


I Am John

by evisionarts



Series: The Jaguar and the Dragon [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Dragon Mycroft, Dragon Sherlock, Fae & Fairies, Jaguars, M/M, Silver Fox Lestrade, Urban Fantasy, Werecats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evisionarts/pseuds/evisionarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s cheeks were rimmed in blue scales and two tiny horns sat atop his head. John was aware that Sherlock sometimes lost his grip on human form when under stress. He found it adorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. War and Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part two of The Jaguar and the Dragon series. It won't make much sense unless you've already read part one: A Flash of Tooth and Claw.

“Mycroft?!” Sherlock flopped onto the couch his arms crossed against his chest and his lips turning down into a pouty sulk. A thin curl of smoke escaped one nostril. “I ask you to remember one thing and you choose Mycroft?!”

John sighed. Sherlock had been repeating this same phrase for days, every time he had a moment to think about it. He swatted his brand new – flatmate? Lover? Dragon? – whatever he was – on the head with a folded newspaper. “Enough! It worked didn’t it?”

Sherlock huffed. “I cannot believe you would choose Mycroft. I refuse to believe anyone would choose Mycroft.”

John lifted Sherlock’s narrow feet and maneuvered his way beneath them until they were nestled in his lap. He rubbed and stroked the arch working his way up to pull at his long toes. Sherlock melted beneath his touch. “Lestrade chose Mycroft.”

Sherlock tensed again. “I am not going John! You cannot make me go!”

John’s dark blue eyes regarded him from beneath long golden lashes as he lifted Sherlock’s foot to his lips and left a small kiss on the top. “What would I have to do to convince you?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed even as his breathing picked up speed. “That’s not fair.”

John slid his hand along Sherlock’s bare calf. “Everything’s fair in love and marriage Sherlock.”

Sherlock shivered and frowned. “That’s not how the saying goes.”

John laughed. “War-Marriage, in my experience it’s practically the same thing.” 

Sherlock’s face lit up with curiosity and John’s drained of color as he realized what he said. He turned his eyes from Sherlock’s, avoiding his shrewd gaze, and wiggled out from under the man’s feet. “Never mind me. Shall we order take-away? There’s that new Thai place down the street we haven’t tried.”

Sherlock sprang from the couch and followed John into the kitchen. “That place is one violation away from a health closure. You can tell by the bottom right corner of the front window. Tell me what you meant John.”

John ignored Sherlock’s demand, turning to put on the kettle. “Meant by what?”

Sherlock sidled up to John’s side and leaned in. “Don’t be stupid John, it doesn’t become you. War and marriage – explain.”

“No.”

“John.”

“No, Sherlock, leave it.”

“John.”

“Sherlock!”

“John, John, John, John …”

John whirled about, his face going red with anger. “Shut up Sherlock! It’s not – it’s none of your business. Just – shut it.” He pushed Sherlock out of the way and stormed up the stairs into the room Sherlock had turned into a make-shift lab. He slammed the door behind him, wincing at the sound of a beaker falling and shattering against the floor.

John stood in the middle of the space, his arms crossed as he tried to calm down. He knew he was acting like an idiot but his central nervous system didn’t seem to care at the moment.

He flinched at a tentative knock. “John?” Sherlock whispered. John knew this was ridiculous. It was all a part of the long, distant past and Sherlock was his future. At least he hoped he was. 

John squared his shoulders and forced his jaw to unclench. He took a few deep breaths then opened the door.

Sherlock looked worried, almost afraid. It wasn’t an expression John was used to seeing and he couldn’t help reaching out to smooth back a wayward curl. “I’m sorry Sherlock. I just – I’m sorry.”

Sherlock’s cheeks were rimmed in blue scales and two tiny horns sat atop his head. John was aware that Sherlock sometimes lost his grip on human form when under stress. He found it adorable.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s besotted expression. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a chirp from his phone. His eyes gleamed as he pulled it from his pocket. “It’s Lestrade! A case John! Finally a case!”

He ran down the stairs, grabbed his coat from the hook and disappeared out the front door. John stood at the top of the stairs frowning until Sherlock’s head appeared peeking around the doorway. Sherlock’s eyebrow raised. “Coming John?”

John couldn’t resist the grin that spread across his face. He leaped down the stairs and took the jacket Sherlock was handing him. “Lead on MacDuff.” 

They exited to the street, John pulling on his coat while Sherlock had a hold of his sleeve dragging him along.

“Oi! Stop that. Let me go you git!” 

Sherlock scowled. “We don’t have time for this John! Anderson is destroying the crime scene even as we speak.”

 

John wrenched his wrist from Sherlock’s grasp and glared. “Fine. Do your magic taxi summoning thing and we’ll get going.”

“Magic taxi summoning thing? Really John?” Sherlock sniffed then stopped still in the middle of the sidewalk and flexed his shoulders. His body vibrated and the cool autumn air shimmered around him.

John took a step back. “Don’t. You. Dare. I swear Sherlock you better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”

Sherlock chuckled and raised his arms. Brilliant blue wings of soft buttery leather erupted from his back and his body twisted and elongated and morphed into the shape of a large scaly dragon. 

A long tail caught John around the waist before an errant wing could knock him on his bum. The dragon was halfway into the street and a cab driver was leaning out of his window raising his fist and yelling in annoyance for the great stupid beast to hurry up and get out of the way.

John’s face flamed in embarrassment as passersby muttered at how unseemly it was for a creature so large to shift in a public right-of-way.  He pushed away the tail that cradled him and stood with hands on hips. “Dammit Sherlock we can just take a cab! This is completely unnecessary and downright rude.”

Sherlock turned his great head and peered at John out of the corner of his eye. The beast grinned and pounced on John, holding him tight to his chest as he leapt into the air.

John struggled for a moment then gave up and relaxed in the dragon’s grip. It wasn’t the first time Sherlock’s impatience had earned him a surprise flight. It actually felt rather pleasant cradled in the Dragon’s claws with the wind from beneath the elegant wings swirling around him.

He wondered how his life had come to this. His younger years were spent as an unassuming human. He’d gone to school, played rugby, trained as a doctor and ended up drafted into the officer corps of the British Royal Army on the eve of the Sere War. 

He hadn’t minded really. He’d loved being a soldier. He knew he should have been more upset by the blood and pain and fear and it wasn’t like it hadn’t bothered him. But the adrenaline rush from time spent on the front line was unparalleled.  Or at least it was until he got mixed up with this great bloody dragon.  Who was approaching a cordoned off crime scene at a speed that did not appear conducive to a gentle landing. 

Sherlock hit the ground hard, his tail whipping around and cushioning John’s body before he could slam into the cracked cement of a crumbling loading dock. John wriggled free just in time to keep himself from falling as Sherlock’s body shrank and twisted back into its human form.

“You great scaly bastard!” John shoved Sherlock hard enough he stumbled though the man just grinned at him and laughed. John smiled and shook his head, turning at the sound of a shout from the interior of the decrepit warehouse they were standing in front of.

 

“Oi! If you two are quite finished playing we have serious business here!” Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade pushed through a crowd of police officers and emergency personnel with an annoyed look on his handsome face.

“Of course Lesrade.” Sherlock brushed non-existent wrinkles from his suit jacket and pulled the hem down to settle on his slim hips. “I should think you would appreciate the fact we took the most expedient method to arrive here in a timely manner.”

John shrugged and returned a sheepish smile as Lestrade’s glare swept over the both of them. 

Lestrade replied with a rude hand gesture aimed in Sherlock’s direction that turned into a sarcastic bow. “The body is this way you royal git. We also have a witness I might let you speak to if it won’t interfere too much with your busy schedule.”

Sherlock sniffed as they followed the Inspector into the dim interior of the old warehouse. “Really Lestrade I would think that your ill-considered fraternization with my brother would have at least improved your vocabulary.”

Lestrade came to an abrupt halt and stepped into Sherlock’s personal space, their noses almost touching. “Behave yourself in here,” he warned, “Or I will share stories of my fraternization with your brother in great searing detail. Got it?”

Sherlock recoiled as if slapped, his mouth puckering into the sourest expression John had ever seen. 

John took pity. “We get it Greg, no baiting the forensic team or borrowing evidence, dragon’s honor, right Sherlock?” He favored Sherlock with a pleading wide-eyed look as his tongue darted out to lick at his lips.

Sherlock huffed. “Those tactics don’t work on me John.” But he stepped close enough to rest his hand upon the small of John’s back while they were led the rest of the way into the crime scene.

The stench of blood and death soaked the evening air. The victim was blue, furry and sitting cross-legged within a painted circle on the warehouse’s concrete floor.  The body remained upright even though its neck and wrists ended in charred stumps.  A green haze remained outlining the shapes of the missing body parts.

“Well that’s … different.” John had seen a lot of destructive spells on the front lines of the war but nothing quite like this.

Sherlock didn’t bother containing his glee. “The circle is unbroken. The attack was somehow launched from within the victim’s defenses. This is brilliant John!”

Lestrade emitted a pointed cough. “I’m so glad you approve of the killer’s methods Sherlock. Perhaps you’d like to tell me how he infiltrated a fifth degree shield of power? Our own mages haven’t been able to so much as punch a pinhole through the thing. ” 

Sherlock ignored Lestrade and approached the circle while raising a gloved hand. He stopped a meter short of the perimeter and parted his lips, shooting a narrow stream of blue flame that crawled along the edge of the circle, growing and shifting until it seemed to encase the figure within. Sherlock closed his eyes, clenched his fingers and pulled.

He staggered back as a sharp backlash sent sparks of pain shooting up his arm. His vision went gray as rough hands hauled him down and he was wrapped in strong arms.

“Sherlock!” His name was called from across a great distance and he struggled to follow it. “Dammit Sherlock what have I told you about reckless tampering with unknown magic!” The voice sounded more concerned than angry and Sherlock blinked as John’s anxious face swam into focus.

“Did it work?” His throat was tight and dry and the words grated on their way out but Sherlock managed a weak grin as John rolled his eyes and helped him to his feet.

“See for yourself.” John’s hand fell away as Sherlock stepped forward and examined the now broken circle. The body lay on its side and the green haze was fading fast.

Sherlock whipped a clear bag from the pocket of his coat and coaxed some of the dissipating fog inside before it disappeared. 

“No absconding with evidence Sherlock.”  Lestrade held out his hand as Sherlock frowned and clutched the bag tighter in his glove.

“You wouldn’t have any evidence if it weren’t for me Lestrade,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for me sunshine so hand it over.” Greg flexed his fingers and raised his eyebrows then grinned and relented at Sherlock’s petulant scowl. “Look I’ll give it to Molly personally. You can analyze it yourself but only within the lab, you’re not taking it home.”

Sherlock frowned but nodded and dropped the bag into Lestrade’s waiting hand. His eyes narrowed at the sound of slow clapping.

“Well done lad! I‘ve never seen dragon fire used quite like that before. Neat trick!” A short, compact man dressed in a dapper blue suit grinned from the sidelines. His skin shone with a coppery sheen and his dirty blond hair peeked out from under a derby hat and hung around his face in dozens of tiny braids. His eyes were shrewd and a familiar deep blue.

The man sauntered across the warehouse floor as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He shot an amused look at the body and stopped in front of John.

“Hello Johnny boy. Fancy meeting you here. Didn’t know you were the type to hang out with dragons.” 

John stared back at the man his fists clenched and his shoulders squared as if he were preparing for attack.

The man dismissed John’s dangerous body language, his grin widening. He leaned in and sniffed then raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. Looks like things have changed since the last time we saw each other. Just what exactly have you been up to Johnny boy?”

Sherlock cleared his throat. He hated being ignored but neither man glanced his way. He watched the exchange with interest, feeling the tension sizzling beneath his skin. This man was of course the witness he was meant to interrogate and he obviously knew John and … oh. Of course. The eyes. Fascinating.

“What the hell are you doing here?” John’s face settled into a furious frown. “You shouldn’t be able to set foot within ten thousand kilometers of London.”

The man beamed as if John had bestowed a great compliment. “Keeping up with your old man then Johnny boy? I’m flattered.”

Lestrade look confused. “Old man? Wait. Are you …?”

“He’s a fucking wanker.” John stepped back and let out a long breath, his lip curling with contempt. “And yes. He’s my … father.”

The man gave a deep bow sweeping the hat off his head with a flourish. “Lloyd Artisian at your service gentlemen.”

“That’s not even close to your real name.” John snarled, taking a step forward as Sherlock snagged his wrist and held him in place. John angrily shook his arm free but stayed his ground.

“Semantics Johnny semantics. It’s what I’m using now and that’s all that matters.” Lloyd’s smile was blinding. “Besides it’s not like the one I gave your mum was original either.”

John growled, his pupils shrinking to slits and claws sliding from his fingertips.  Sherlock and Lestrade both moved to intervene each one grabbing a man and shoving them back.

“Enough!” Lestrade slipped a pair of handcuffs from the pocket of his coat and secured Lloyd’s hands behind his back. “I’ve suddenly decided you’re less witness and more suspect Mr. Artisian or whatever you choose to call yourself these days so you’ll be coming with me.”

“You can’t do that! You don’t have any evidence to hold me.” Lloyd’s skin glowed brighter turning from copper to red and then back again as he yelped in pain.   

“Yeah I wouldn’t do that.” Lestrade was calm and professional signaling to a constable to take the suspect away. “My cuffs don’t like other people’s magic. They get tetchy. And I don’t need evidence only reasonable suspicion and I have plenty of that.”

John was rigid in Sherlock’s arms but managing to slowly return to human form as Lloyd was led away swearing. Sherlock tightened his grip around John once then let him go.

“Look John,” Lestrade was apologetic but firm. “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”

Sherlock started to protest but John held up a hand and gave a resigned nod. “It’s alright Sherlock. I’ll answer what I can Greg but I haven’t seen the bastard in years. He left my mum before I was born and only showed up periodically to cause everyone a lot of grief.”

“Let me talk to him.” Sherlock regarded Lestrade with a fierce expression. “He’s not your killer but there’s a connection. He’s no innocent bystander.”

John snorted. “He’s no innocent anything. He’s a professional con man and he plays all sides. Every faction in feydom holds some kind of grudge against him. The last I’d heard he’d been run out of London and was hiding out somewhere in eastern Europe.”

Lestrade sighed. “I can’t let you do that Sherlock. Not now that there’s a bias. But you can observe the interview. I’ll even wear a wire so you can suggest questions.”

Sherlock looked annoyed as Lestrade spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. “It’s the best I can do and you know it. It’s already more than I should be allowing so I’d take the offer before I change my mind.” He winked at John.

“Fine,” Sherlock huffed. “We’ll meet you at the Yard. Come along John.” He turned with a flair of his coat and stalked away.

“He means thank you for the opportunity to assist in the investigation.” John grinned up at Lestrade.

Lestrade laughed. “Yeah I know what he meant.” He peered at John with an assessing tilt of his head. “Are you OK?”

John shrugged and stared at the floor. “I’m fine. My dad’s a dick and frankly I wasn’t expecting to ever see him again but here we are. Anyway I’d better go after his highness before he decides to set fire to one of your colleagues out of sheer frustration.”

“Wish I could choose which one.” Lestrade clapped a hand on John’s shoulder who responded with a half-hearted chuckle. “See you at the yard.”

John raised his head and saluted then followed in Sherlock’s footsteps. Judging by the shouting he was already causing trouble. 

OK so his worthless shit of a father was back in town and he always had plans for John. Too bad the man didn’t realize who he was dealing with. He wasn’t an abandoned child any more or a young man desperate for validation. He was a healer, a warrior and a predator who had a dragon on his side. Daddy had no idea what was coming and John was looking forward to delivering the news.


	2. Well Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t let him fool you.” John placed his hand on the glass and Lloyd turned his head and smiled as if he knew his son was there. John pulled his hand back and wiped it on his trousers with a disgusted look. “He’s dangerous Lestrade. Be careful in there.”

The Met was noisy and crowded and stank of unwashed bodies and stale coffee. The current government favored regular roundups of the homeless in certain areas and there were people sitting on whatever level surface was available, including the floor, waiting to be processed. Two of them were half-shifted into bird form and were squawking at each other in an irritating high pitched whine. One woman sat wrapped in rags rocking back and forth and crooning to herself in a language older than London. She looked up as Sherlock swept in, coat swirling, and winked at him. Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement and slipped her a few notes and a folded slip of paper as he strode by. John paid little attention, used to these kinds of exchanges taking place on a frequent basis.

There was an undercurrent of power in this room. Homeless didn’t mean helpless and the more intelligent officers saddled with this particular duty knew it. If they were smart they treated their charges with respect, processing them through quickly to a staging area where they were offered showers and food and then, if they had no outstanding warrants, were sent back out on the street again with a warning. Everyone knew this was all for show and most played their parts with little complaint. 

“I’m surprised your brother hasn’t put a stop to this.” John stepped over the legs of a thin purple man who wore nothing but a loincloth and a battered top hat. The man blinked, eyeing John with a kind of hunger that turned conciliatory at Sherlock’s challenging glare.

“Don’t be ridiculous John.” Sherlock scowled at the idea of his brother’s interference and stepped closer to John’s side. “He uses this farce as a way to pacify the humans and keep track of certain fey elements and they allow him that privilege in exchange for whatever bribe he is currently offering. It’s quite efficient really.”

John tilted his head up at Sherlock and grinned. “Did you just compliment Mycroft?”

“Shut up.” Sherlock growled but took John’s hand in his and pulled him through the crowd, catching the lift just before the doors closed.

Lestrade wasn’t in his office when they arrived but a nervous young constable directed them to the interrogation rooms. John’s father sat in a low chair while handcuffed to a bolted down metal table behind one-way glass. Lestrade peered through the window taking in the man’s slouching posture and unconcerned expression. 

“He doesn’t look very worried does he,” Lestrade remarked as Sherlock and John came to stand beside him.

“Don’t let that fool you.” John placed his hand on the glass and Lloyd turned his head and smiled as if he knew his son was there. John pulled his hand back and wiped it on his trousers with a disgusted look. “He’s dangerous Lestrade. Be careful in there.”

“Well he won’t be getting any magic through the dampening field and my handcuffs already don’t like him so don’t be too worried.” Lestrade reached into his coat and handed Sherlock a microphone and a set of earbuds. “I’m wired so you can listen in and suggest routes of inquiry but keep the talking to a minimum. I don’t need you distracting me.”

John did not take his eyes off the window as Lestrade made his way into the interrogation room, gesturing at the security detail to step outside. “If there’s a dampener what good are his handcuffs other than a restraining device?” 

“They aren’t magic John.” Sherlock said as he nestled one of the buds into his ear and offered the other to John. “They’re rather … alive.”

“Oh.” John didn’t quite know what to say to that.

Lloyd raised his head as Lestrade entered the room grinning widely. “Inspector! So good to see you again. And hello Johnny my boy! Did you bring that big bad dragon with you?” He leaned in and whispered into Lestrade’s chest. “So nice to be surrounded by family isn’t it?”

John flinched and Sherlock bumped his shoulder and flicked the switch on the microphone. “Don’t you think it more than a coincidence that John’s long lost father happened to find the one place in London John and I were almost certain to show up?”

Lestrade ignored the voice in his ear and took his time studying the fey in front of him. 

Lloyd sat back in his chair and whistled a haunting melody. Lestrade felt his dual nature stir, the fox and the wolverine raising their hackles at the sound but remaining hidden.

“Does that usually work for you? It won’t in here.” Lestrade asked the question politely, folding his hands together on the table top. “What were you doing in the warehouse?”

Lloyd hid his surprise behind a grin. “Ah inspector I like a man who gets right to the point. I was there to meet a friend. Unfortunately someone else found him first.”

“So you knew the victim previously?”

Lloyd absently rattled the cuffs against the table leg, jumping a bit when they emitted an annoyed growl. “You might say that. We met online. Are you a gamer inspector?”

Lestrade shook his head.

Lloyd smirked. “You should be. Go on a few raids with someone and they start to open up you know? Especially if they’ve had a few. It gets boring waiting for shit to happen. They tell you stuff. You tell them stuff. We got to talking and it turned out we had a few things in common.”

“John said you were a fugitive, that coming back to London would be dangerous for you. Are you telling me you risked your life to meet up with a guy you knew from a video game?”

Lloyd glanced at the spot where John and Sherlock sat looking through the one-way glass. “I thought he had something I wanted.”

Lestrade tapped the table bringing Lloyd’s attention back to him. “And what was that?”

“John.”  Lloyd winked at the window, his lips pulling wide in a self-satisfied grin.

Lestrade’s eyes were hard as he opened his mouth to form the next question only to be thrown from his chair as the world exploded into chaos. The building shook and rolled as if hit by multiple blasts and Lestrade clumsily climbed to his feet as John and Sherlock burst through the door.  

Lloyd lay twisted on the floor straining and pulling against the hissing handcuffs as screams and the sound of battle filled the air. “Let me out of these god damn things before they find me!”

Lestrade  grabbed Lloyd and stroked the cuffs who let go of the table leg only to curl back around Lloyd’s wrist as his arms were hauled behind his back.

John stood guard in the doorway his gun in his hand looking out into the hall. “Who the fuck is it this time? Is there anybody left who isn’t after you?”

Sherlock was calm as he turned up the color of his coat and lowered his piercing gaze on Lloyd’s sweating face. “More to the point, who has the strength to break through a heavily warded police station? This is one of the most secure buildings in the city. It would be interesting to know who or what could overcome that.”

“I think we’re about to find out.” John backed into the room, his hand steady as he leveled his gun at three hooded figures wreathed in cloaks of scarlet.

They pointed skeletal fingers in Lloyd’s direction and spoke as one. “You bear the mark of the lost soul. We come for you Lloyd Artisian.”


	3. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lloyd and John have a father-son chat. It doesn't go well.

John stepped forward shielding his father and brushing the accusing fingers aside. “He’s an arsehole but he’s my Dad and you’re not taking him anywhere.”

The robed figures bent their heads together murmuring words too low to hear then straightened. “You are the son.”

John gave a sharp nod. “Um yeah, I just said …”

“We will take you both.”

“No.” Sherlock’s voice was firm and harsh and the room shook as his temper flared. “I really don’t think you will.” 

“We have no quarrel with you House of Dragon. Give us the lost one and his spawn and we will go.”

“Yeah, no.” Greg hauled Lloyd to his side and gripped his arm with nails that were growing long and sharp. “That’s not going to happen. So… I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade and you lot are …”

“We are the Followers of the Mark. We claim the right of retribution. The lost one will pay his debt to us with his blood.  Give him to us or we will destroy this building and the city surrounding it.”

“Look this is all a misunderstanding.” Lloyd squirmed uncomfortably as Lestrade’s claws dug into his skin. “Besides everything was rigged and I don’t owe anything to a bunch of cheaters!”

“Wait a minute.” Lestrade shook Lloyd. “Does this have anything to do with the video game you were talking about?”

“Really Lestrade it’s obvious.” Sherlock’s cheeks were wreathed in scales and the tips of his horns peeked through his hair. He pointed a spidery finger at Lloyd. “They are still playing the game and John’s father is the prize or rather something he is carrying.”

“Enough!” The three intruders roared and as Sherlock stepped forward they moved as one, their robes whipping around them bleeding scarlet trails. 

“Damn it Sherlock wait!” John cried out but he was too late as Sherlock was surrounded. The dragon’s lips grew wide as curved fangs dripping with venom erupted from his mouth. He growled and whirled in a circle as bursts of wild flame engulfed the robed figures. 

John, Lloyd and Lestrade threw up their arms, shielding their faces from the intense heat.

There was a moment of silence as the Followers of the Mark were reduced to plumes of red smoke and a rain of ash.

Sherlock’s cry of triumph choked off as the figures took shape once more and solidified around Sherlock, their hands wrapped around the vulnerable flesh of his throat. They hummed a low buzzing chant and squeezed.

Sherlock’s face contorted with pain and his dragon nature faded until he crumpled to the floor returned to his human form.

John breathed out a furious whine as his lips curled to reveal long pointed teeth and claws split his rough skin as he uncurled his fists. His face grew angular and furred and a long sturdy tail whipped around his legs. 

“I knew it.” Lloyd sounded smug and pleased as he beamed at his son.

The Followers of the Mark stood between John and Sherlock and John’s voice cut like honed steel. “Get out of my way.”

“Despite his actions against us he is not severely injured son of the lost one.” 

John’s reply was calm and matter-of-fact. “It was too late for you the moment you touched him.”

Lestrade grabbed Lloyd’s arm and pushed him toward the door while John distracted their foes but the man twisted in his grasp pulling Lestrade down in a tangle of limbs.

Lloyd breathed a single word into Lestrade’s ear. The rhythm of an ancient language wound around Lestrade’s thoughts and he stiffened as tendrils of power seeped into his skin. He struggled to resist their command but his body shuddered and went limp.

“Sweet dreams Inspector.” Lloyd grinned then yelped as the handcuffs growled and bit down hard. “Oi get off me you lot or I swear your foxy wolverine over there is never going to wake up!”

The cuffs grumbled and twitched but loosened to slip from his wrists.

Lloyd rubbed his hands together and rolled his eyes at the fact that no one was paying any attention to him. “Hey! Three Stooges! Over here! Come get me!”

Lloyd strode across the room and laid a tentative hand on John’s furred shoulder. “Easy kitty boy. We don’t want to provoke anything we can’t finish at the moment.”

John roared and shook off his father’s touch as he fully transformed into a golden beast. He leapt for the trio that stood calmly between him and Sherlock’s unmoving form but cried out and twisted in mid-air then came down hard restored to his human form. He raised pained eyes to Lloyd’s face. His father stood over him flexing a right hand that dripped lines of blue sparking light. 

Lloyd frowned and shook his head before John could speak. “Sorry my boy but it’s better this way believe me. No one’s getting out of this with just tooth and claw.”

“Ain’t that right Followers of the blah, blah, yada, yada?” Lloyd crouched over his son as if trying to shield him from the trio’s gaze. “You got me now. Leave the rest of these yahoos alone and I’ll come with you nice and quiet like.” 

John mouthed the word “yahoo” and regarded his father with a puzzled glare. “What the bloody hell are you doing? I don’t believe for one minute you’re going to sacrifice yourself for any of us!” 

“Shut it John.” Lloyd’s voice was grim. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.” He stretched his arms wide and grinned. “Now laddies how about we get this show on the road.”

“We are the Followers of the Mark.” The three robed figures appeared to grow and shift into half shadow as they arranged themselves around Lloyd and John.

“Yeah we’ve established that.” Lloyd eyed them warily. “You’ve got what you wanted. I’m all yours.”

“We claim the right of retribution.” The sonorous voices filled the room and echoed off the walls until it sounded like a multitude chanting in perfect rhythm. “We are here for you lost one.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever, could you hurry it up a bit?” Lloyd edged away from John but was stopped by a wall of red robes. “Look just take me and … fuck!”

Lloyd screamed as a host of red shadows wound themselves around him. Every nerve in his body misfired as he was assaulted with razor sharp burning pain. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t …

***

“I hate you.”

Lloyd struggled to wake, his head pounding so hard he swore he would never drink again. Well not for a while anyway. Well at least not tonight unless a really good opportunity presented itself. 

“I seriously fucking hate every single bloody thing about you.”

Lloyd opened his eyes to find fierce blue ones staring right back at him. He sighed. “Morning John.”

“I hope they plan to torture you for centuries.”

“Johnny …”

“I hope they channel Grandmother’s ghost.”

Lloyd shuddered. “Now Johnny boy that’s low. I never meant to hurt your mother …”

John snarled.

“Hey look that wasn’t all me! You think your mother was always easy to live with? She had a mouth on her like …”

There was a dangerous silence.

“Ok sorry, sorry that was a stupid thing to say.” Lloyd rolled away and clambered to his knees. His hands were bound behind his back but at least his feet were free. John lay on his side eyeing him with evil intent.

Lloyd sighed. “I tried to keep you out of this you know.”

John snorted and scrabbled upright. “Right. Where the hell are we?”

“The dungeons under the Hall of the Mark. Don’t bother trying anything they’re power dampened.” Lloyd sniffed the air. “We’re in the southwest corner not that far from the furnace where they burn the trash. The guard comes by ever hour or so. Nice chap as long as you don’t mention the ex-hubby who owns the pub. It’s OK to talk about the ex-wife though.”

John rolled his shoulders and allowed the broken zip ties that once bound his hands to fall to the floor. He ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “How bloody surprising you’ve been here before.”

“Hey neat trick!” Lloyd flashed his son a quick and admiring grin. “How about you teach me that?”

“No.”

Lloyd shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He grunted and strained and avoided John’s side eyes of amusement but only managed to cut himself on the sharp edge of a piece of plastic. “Shit!”

John sighed. “Come here.”

Lloyd awkwardly made his way over to John and fell over on his side in front of him. “Thanks for making me crawl.” 

“You’re welcome.” John’s voice was entirely too satisfied as he worked on the trusses. 

Soon Lloyd’s hands were free and he was sitting up and rubbing his wrists. “Where did you learn to do that?”

John looked away. “Not all of us can rely on fey tricks to get us out of trouble.”

“Stop deluding yourself son,” Lloyd snapped. “You’re just as much fey as I am so get over it.”

John paced angrily around the walls of the small cell. “Yeah, well I didn’t know that until fairly recently did I? It’s not like you said anything.”

“John, it was safer that way.” Lloyd dropped down to sit on his heels and dragged his fingers through the dirt on the floor.  “You think I wanted my enemies coming after my fey kid? If you were human you weren’t worth bothering with.”

John laughed. “Did it ever occur to you not to make any enemies?”

“Christ John cut me some slack.” Lloyd leaned his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like your mother was a poster child for humanity either.”

“What?”

Lloyd inhaled a deep breath. “Oops.”

John leaped forward, grabbing Lloyd by the collar, dragging him to his feet then pinning him against the wall. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Um, look, forget I said anything.” Lloyd licked his lips with a nervous dart of his tongue. ”Let’s just concentrate on getting the hell out of here.”

John grasped Lloyd by the throat and knocked his head into the wall.

Lloyd’s hands clenched at the hem of his shirt as if he were fighting to keep from retaliating. “Ow! Shit Johnny boy what do you want from me?”

John peered fiercely into his father’s eyes. “What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean?”

“I -.”

John tightened the hand around Lloyd’s throat. “No you sorry sodding bastard! This isn’t at all about you.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “OK, OK I can’t talk if you don’t let me breathe you know. You are so like your mother.”

John pulled a fist back.

“John! Wait! Listen! I mean you are so like your mother.” Lloyd’s body sagged in John’s grip as if he’d lost the will to hold himself up. “For years she lived with you among the humans. No one ever knew you weren’t one of them. You both have – had that talent. You were like chameleons, blending in with whatever was around you.”

Lloyd raised his head and peered at John like he was pleading with him to understand. “Didn’t you ever wonder why it was always so easy to fit in? You’re an angry man John but everyone likes you.”

John let go and stepped back his mouth set in a grim line. “If she wasn’t human what was she then?”

Lloyd shrugged and closed his eyes for a moment a fond look on his face. “I’m not exactly sure. A witch or an oracle I guess you might say. She … she knew things. Things dangerous to know.”

Lloyd rubbed the back of his neck looking sheepish. “She didn’t tell me too much about herself or maybe … maybe I didn’t ask. I know she came from a line hunted almost to extinction and that she had many sisters once but they are all gone now.” 

“No one likes the person you can’t hide your secrets from Johnny.” Lloyd offered his son a sad smile. “But she knew how to hide and how to keep you safe. Even from me.”

“I wonder,” John said, “who will keep you safe from me.”


	4. Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroes find a secret message, stage a daring rescue attempt and deal with an unexpected turn of events. The letter of the law is respected, the nature not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who read and bookmarked and commented on this fic and sent me lovely words of encouragement to continue it. I never had the intention to abandon it but real life took an unexpected turn last year and family issues forced me to step away for a bit. I've had this chapter sitting on my hard drive half written for months and it feels so good to finally be able to post it for you. I hope you enjoy it!

Harsh and angry whispers filtered through the haze in Lestrade’s head as he bit his lip to curb a pained groan. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds in a bar room brawl and not come out the victor. He raised a shaky hand to his temple and opened gritty eyelids to find his beloved idiot of a dragon engaged with idiot junior while they hissed and spit at each other like deranged alley cats.

“I want him found and then I will personally see to his disembowelment!” Mycroft was breathing smoke and fire into the air after every word and his face was wreathed in red scales. His clawed hands were gripping the handle of his umbrella and each time he tapped the floor with it the entire room shook.

Sherlock’s frantic pacing slowed and he whirled on his brother. “Not if I get to him first!”

Mycroft sneered through lengthening fangs. “He is mine brother! You will not take away my chance to …”

“He is the reason they took John, Mycroft!” Sherlock interrupted as his eyes flared scarlet in their fury. “If he has caused one hair to be harmed on my John’s head I will tear him apart! Slowly.”

Mycroft returned his glare. “He harmed Gregory! It is my right to …”

Lestrade gingerly raised himself to his elbows. He was lying on the beat up leather sofa in his own office and was happy but surprised it survived the attack. He sighed. “Will the both of you please shut it.”

Mycroft’s eyes went wide as he hurried to his lover’s side. “Gregory!”

“Sh! God damn it that hurt.” Lestrade worked himself to a sitting position and clutched his head between shaking hands.

Mycroft’s voice was filled with concern as he gently grasped Lestrade’s arm. “Gregory you must not overexert yourself.” 

“Yeah bit late for that,” Lestrade answered with a wry grimace. “I know where they are.”

“What?” Sherlock and Mycroft exploded in tandem. 

Lestrade might have laughed if he weren’t afraid his brain was going to melt. “That fucker left a message, like a memory in my head.”

Sherlock and Mycroft stared at him like he’d just said the Queen wasn’t human. Which she wasn’t, but no one else was supposed to know that.

 “Gregory are you feeling alright? Perhaps you are concussed.” Mycroft’s words were placating and Lestrade wanted to strangle him. The look he bestowed on his beloved left the mighty dragon stuttering in apology.

Lestrade growled. “Both of you gits shut it and listen for a change. John’s da has power even if the fucker doesn’t look strong enough to cheat my grandmere at a game of gin. Actually that’s a bad example.”

“Cease your rambling!” Sherlock rumbled in frustration. “You will tell us where John is or I’ll…” 

Mycroft turned on his brother. “Enough! Sherlock you will not now nor will you ever threaten Gregory.” Looking back at Lestrade his tone was contrite. “I’m sorry my dear but if you could explain? I don’t think we have much time.”

“Stop being such a pompous arse and I will!” Lestrade groaned as his own outburst caused searing spikes of pain to radiate behind his eyes. He reached for the sleeve of Mycroft’s suit jacket and clung to it like a child until his ragged thoughts cleared and he could breathe without wincing. “I-I’m sorry Mycroft. My head hurts.”

Mycroft sat on the edge of the sofa and took Lestrade gently in his arms. “I know my dear and I vow the villain who caused that will pay accordingly.”

Lestrade rested his head against Mycroft’s shoulder for a moment then gazed up at Sherlock who was deathly pale and obviously attempting to hide his worry behind puffs of smoke and lowered eyes. His expression went soft. “I need paper lad. Lloyd left me a map and some directions in a language I hope one of you knows because I sure as hell don’t.”

Sherlock gave a decisive nod and stalked over to Lestrade’s desk. He wrenched a drawer completely out of the frame and upended its contents onto the floor. Smirking in triumph he grabbed a yellow pad of lined paper and a pen and tossed them into the exasperated man’s lap.

“Gee thanks.” 

Lestrade’s sarcasm was of course completely lost on Sherlock who replied with a satisfied smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Rolling his eyes Lestrade wriggled out of Mycroft’s grasp and settled down to sketch a diagram of streets leading to a location he didn’t recognize. He then drew what looked to be a series of halls and stairways and finished with a scribbled “X” over a particular door.

Sherlock and Mycroft focused intently as the details emerged and shared a knowing glance as Lestrade added strangely curved letters in a guttural language. 

Lestrade traced the writing with his finger and attempted to chant the first syllables. Mycroft wrenched him back and shoved a hand over his mouth. “Do not speak them aloud! Those words are not steps to a physical destination. They are a power unto themselves and will bind you to the will of the one who gave them to you.” 

Lestrade pushed Mycroft away, leaned his head back and pinched his nose. “Of course they will. I know Lloyd is John’s da but he is a right dick. Is the map even real?”

Sherlock’s lips curled into an intrigued smile. “It is. It’s an old church on the edge of London that’s stood empty for the past fifteen years.” 

Mycroft leaned over Lestrade’s shoulder peering at the paper. “I have a feeling brother mine that it is perhaps not as abandoned as one may assume at first glance. This looks to be a diagram of what lays beneath it.”

Sherlock huffed. “An underground fortress. How super villain. I’m on my way.”  

Snatching the map from Lestrade’s hand, Sherlock swirled the edge of his coat and was out the door while ignoring Mycroft’s cry of protest. 

“Brother wait! Oh blast.”

Lestrade grimaced and forced himself to rise from the sofa. He ignored the creak of his bones but was grateful the ache in his head had subsided. “I suppose we should go after the scaly git if only for John’s sake.”

Mycroft stood and gazed at Lestrade with a worried frown. “Gregory you are wounded. Perhaps you should stay behind…”

Lestrade favored Mycroft with a wink and bumped shoulders. “Only my pride dragon boy. Getting that message out really did the trick. I’m feeling much better. The pain is gone and I have two furry friends inside me who are starting to feel awfully restless.” His grin turned predatory. “They want to hunt.”

Lestrade leaned in and left a smacking kiss on Mycroft’s cheek as the air surrounding him shimmered and sparkled with beads of bright light. 

Mycroft surveyed the soft grey fox scampering between his feet with a fond smile and chuckled.  “As always my dear I shall follow wherever you lead.”

The fox rose up on two hind legs and rubbed his head against the trouser leg of Mycroft’s expensive suit leaving a trail of fine silvery hairs. He chittered and snickered then took off like a shot, leaping through the open doorway of the office and nuzzling the carpet of the dusty corridor until he caught Sherlock’s scent and sneezed. 

The fox tossed his head back to make sure Mycroft was watching then leapt against one of the station’s emergency exits shoving down on the handle with a fisted paw. His small body swung as the door opened with a crash and he was flung into the air where he curved gracefully and made a perfect landing on all four feet. He paused once to sniff then sped up the stairs towards the roof.

The treads quaked as Mycroft climbed after the fox at a deliberate and unhurried pace. He hummed and twirled his umbrella as he half shifted into his dragon form. Mycroft’s skin glittered with a dusting of scarlet scales and shining gold claws slipped from his fingertips. Horns curled through his ginger hair and smoke billowed with every measured breath.

He trailed Lestrade out onto the flat roof of the beleaguered police station. The fox stood on a wide and low concrete railing and stared out over the city. The sun was setting and muted purples and reds spread out over the evening sky. A dark shape flew steadily through the clouds disappearing into the distance. 

Mycroft tutted. “Such a bother.” He swept the fox into his arms and stepped off the edge of the building.

Lestrade squeaked and yowled until Mycroft fully transformed and leveled out in flight. He hung firmly gripped in the dragon’s claws as Mycroft’s powerful wings stroked cleanly through the cool, crisp air. 

Lestrade slapped Mycroft’s foot with his paw but ceased complaining and settled in to enjoy the ride. He loved flying with Mycroft but he didn’t need to give the arrogant dragon any more reason to feel full of himself. Though he suspected from the way Mycroft was snorting that he’d already given himself away.

They soared lazily over London only catching up with Sherlock as he slowed to circle over a crumbling church situated at the edge of a rundown industrial area of the city. The two dragons eyed each other then descended to land gracefully in a weedy courtyard. 

Lestrade tumbled out of Mycroft’s grip and peered at his new surroundings curiously. He arched his back in a long stretch and shifted to his human form in a glittery show of light. He cleared his throat and watched as Sherlock and Mycroft transformed to join him. 

I suppose the map didn’t show us an easy way in,” Lestrade said rubbing a hand through his silvery thatch of hair.

“I suggest the front door.” Sherlock handed the paper to Lestrade and traced the way to the lowest level with a scaly claw. “It’s up to you to find them Lestrade. It will be easier for you to slip by unnoticed. My brother and I will provide plenty of distraction.”

Sherlock grew and shifted again while Lestrade grinned at Mycroft.  “Really? Aren’t you two usually a little more subtle with your machinations?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and unfurled lengthening wings. “Sometimes dear Gregory even I have to admit size is everything.” He reared his head back and roared, reaching out with huge claws and tearing a set of double doors right off their shrieking hinges.

Shouts filled the air and robed figures poured through the doorway brandishing long staves and flinging daggers which bounced off the dragons’ rock hard scales. Lestrade hid behind an enormous leathery wing and shrank down into his fox form then raced between the feet of the combatants deliberately tripping up a few as he leaped through the shattered doorway and ran down a long hall. 

He came upon a narrow stairway and threw himself into the face of an acolyte who yelled and tumbled backwards hitting the floor below with a resounding crack. Lestrade landed on the man’s chest then jumped off and continued down the next set of stairs.

After descending several flights Lestrade came upon an alcove where a guard sat at a table sorting through a ring of rusty keys. The man glanced up and reached for his dagger but Lestrade was leaping at his face transforming into a wolvering in mid-flight. The guard screamed as razor sharp claws tore into his skin and he tripped and fell cracking his head against the solid edge of the table. The man groaned once then lay still.

Lestrade grabbed the keys with his teeth and headed down the hall. Thick iron doors ran down each side and Lestrade stood still for a moment with ears cocked. He huffed and snorted as the sounds of arguing filtered through the air regretting his wolverine form’s inability to roll its eyes. He trotted down the hall until he located the cell the irate sounds were coming from and shifted back into his human form. It took a few tries but eventually he found the right key and turned the lock unable to help a grin at the surprised looks of John and his father as the door swung open on rusted squeaky hinges.

“Hi, my name is Greg Lestrade and I’m here to rescue you.”

 “Oh my god Greg seriously? Just how old are you?” John retorted, leveling a judgmental gaze.

Lloyd rounded on John throwing up his hands. “Hey I took you to those movies Johnny boy and as I recall you loved them!”

John glared back, balling his hands into fists. “You kicked my friend and I out of the car at the back door to the theater and told us to sneak in while you took the money mom gave us and went to the bar next door!”

“Well what difference does it make,” Lloyd barked back, “I took you and you obviously managed to see it!”

“Oh my god –“

Greg stepped forward placing himself between the two men while sincerely regretting his life choices. 

“Gentlemen, and I’m using the term loosely here, we really should probably think about leaving before the two dragons upstairs tear apart half of London.”

“You left those two upstairs alone? Are you nuts?” John favored Lestrade with a disapproving look and pushed past him heading for the stairs.

Lestrade stared after him and called out a sarcastic reply. “Thank you for rescuing us Greg. That was very clever Greg. We’re forever indebted to you Greg!”

Lloyd shrugged and gave a tip of an imaginary hat as he followed his son out into the hall. Lestrade sighed and hurried to catch up with them.

The stairs shook as they climbed and dust from the ceiling rained down upon their heads. As they approached the surface the ear-splitting shrieks of furious dragons doing battle rang through the building and the acrid smell of smoke and ash permeated the air.

John emerged from the stairwell into chaos and threw himself to one side as several bodies came flying down the hallway as if they were a discarded ball of rags flung with great force. Behind him Lloyd muttered ancient words under his breath and Lestrade shouted and cursed. A great ball of fiery white light filled the small space and John squeezed his eyes shut and plastered himself against the wall. When he pried his lids open a few seconds later they were alone.

“Nice to know you’re good for something,” Lestrade sniped and Lloyd huffed. John couldn’t help the giggle that rose up from the disgruntled look on his father’s face.

“Come on,” Lestrade urged barreling past them and heading for the front door, “I don’t know how long Sherlock and Mycroft can hold them off.”

The trio dodged the scattered debris and groaning men in tattered robes that littered the way as they emerged into the courtyard. The dragons were surrounded by a diminishing army of acolytes most of whom were so busy trying not to get bitten, clawed or stomped on that they weren’t exactly mounting an impressive defense. 

The Followers of the Mark stood in a serene circle in the middle of the fighting. They remain untouched as the battle whirled around them and they ignored the dragons, instead keeping their eyes on the doorway and the three men who were stepping out of it. Perhaps that should have been a clue Lestrade mused as they each raised a staff. Bolts of blue lightning shot from the ends and the screams of men and howls of put upon dragons were cut off. 

“I hate these guys,” Lestrade said pointing at the red robed figures.

“Yeah I’m right there with you,” John agreed, gazing at the blue walled bubble that encased the three of them along with the Followers. 

Lloyd nodded and sighed as he rolled up the sleeve on his right arm. “They’re always so damn smug.”

“What are you doing?” John hissed as Lloyd’s forearm was bared. An intricate tattoo glowed softly against his skin. The deep blue lines passed over and wove around each other forming an endless knot with no discernible beginning or end.

Lloyd ignored his question and addressed the waiting Followers of the Mark. “I’ve done what you wanted. I’ve delivered him to you. But I’m not doing this without the assurance of safe passage. When it’s done you let me go.”

The trio of red robed figures nodded in unison.

Lloyd turned so fast Lestrade saw only a blur before the image of the man grasping John’s right arm came into focus. 

Lloyd dug his fingers in deep as John struggled to pull away. “Sorry Johnny but it’s either you or me and trust me it’s better if it’s you.”

John screamed as the tattoo bled from Lloyd and appeared faintly on John’s skin, growing deeper and more defined by the moment.

 “No!” Lestrade yelled, leaping and transforming in mid-air into the form of a furious wolverine. He drove his teeth into Lloyd’s disappearing tattoo and the man howled and released John’s arm stumbling back as blood poured from the wound. 

Tendrils of gray, oily smoke seeped from Lloyd’s ruined flesh and then exploded outward shattering the blue bubble and flinging the inhabitants several feet away and to the ground.

Outside everything was still. Sherlock was left hanging in mid-air with a man clamped in his jaws while Mycroft was standing like a statue, the claws of one hand wrapped around the neck of an attacker while the other was plucking a spear out of the sky. All around them acolytes were frozen in various states of battle or retreat. No sounds disturbed the scene. It was as if the whole world were in stasis waiting to see what they would be released into.

John was writhing on the ground and Lestrade shifted to his human form and rushed to his side.

“What did you do to him?!” He shouted at the Followers of the Mark who climbed to their feet and stood watching them.

“He is the one,” they intoned in unison, “he is the bearer of the gift, the sacred vessel, the –“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you crazy wankers.” Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair and then reached out as if trying to pull his dragon closer. “Mycroft. What have they done?”

He rounded on the Followers his calm, steel-edged words cleaving the silence like a weapon. “If you don’t release him I will crawl down your throats and gut you from the inside.”

“Greg,” John gasped his voice ragged and hoarse.

“John! Are you alright?” Lestrade helped the pale and shaking man to his feet and they both swayed awkwardly for a moment until John found his footing. 

John turned away from the Followers coughing and shivering but then he looked up at Lestrade from under his fringe of blonde hair and winked. Lestrade frowned in confusion. His eyes traveled down to the tattoo that now decorated John’s right arm just below the elbow. It was as intricate as Lloyd’s but a paler gray rather than the deep blue he remembered from before. It was dotted with red as if drops of blood from the wolverine’s bite had somehow bound themselves to the ink.

“I don’t –“ Lestrade whispered but was interrupted by a low, rumbling laughter that grew in volume until the courtyard rang with the smarmy syllables of it.

“You are the chosen of the Mark, John Watson,” the Followers intoned, their voices rising and falling in rhythm with the insane cackling, “your coming was foretold and you will be our sword bearer and our shield. We shall use you to smite the unholy and restore order to a forsaken world. There shall be no room for those who do not follow the will of the Mark! We are the voice and you are the right arm!”

John slowly raised his head until he was staring straight into the shadowed hoods of the red robed trio. His fingers trailed the lines of ink etched into his skin. “There’s only one problem with that you pathetic little bastards.”

He grinned as Lestrade darted behind the Followers while he held their attention.  “I’m left handed.”

He threw back his golden head and roared as the jaguar’s claws pierced his skin and ripped the tattoo from its site. Ignoring the ragged gash that was already healing he transformed fully and pounced at the same time the wolverine leaped from the other side. 

Sound and motion returned around them as the Followers fell beneath the onslaught of the ravaging beasts. The remaining acolytes surrounded the two but John and Lestrade were swept up into the sky by two bristling dragons who layered the courtyard with walls of searing flame. Sirens rent the air but by the time the first truck arrived there was nothing left but a black crater filled with a bed of thick ash. 

Lestrade watched as Sherlock and John made a lazy turn and headed in the direction of Baker Street. He wasn’t surprised Mycroft chose not to follow. The day was fast approaching when what little time they had to themselves would shrink even further and Lestrade knew Mycroft needed to reassure himself that his consort was safe and whole.

The wolverine curled up snug and secure within the grip of his dragon and allowed the familiar beating of powerful wings to lull him into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
